Thursday the Rabbi Walked Out

by Harry Kemelman

  “That so? Big financier, is he?” He drummed the table.

  “That’s right. There was an article on him in Business Week about a month ago. I took him to the Agathon for lunch, and he liked what he saw and what he had to eat. And asked me to put him up for membership. Just like that. Didn’t ask what the dues were or the initiation fee. And it isn’t as though he’s interested in yachts, or in any of the facilities the club has to offer. It was just that it seemed to him a nice place to dine. A man like that isn’t apt to haggle over the price of a piece of land he’s set his heart on.”

  “Well,” said Jordon with a sour grin, “I didn’t actually close the door. This Maltzman figured I was being cozy, or maybe I didn’t like to talk figures over the phone, because he asked if he could come and see me and talk about it. So I told him he could come at half past eight tonight.”

  “Oh, well, that’s all right then.” Gore was much relieved.

  “I told him,” the old man went on, “that I knew he was president of the temple and that since there is a service there at half past eight on Friday nights, according to the bulletin outside, I wanted to see which counted more with him, his commission or his religion.” The old man put his head back and laughed obscenely.

  Billy looked doubtfully at the old man as though wondering if he were joking. Gore pretended to be amused. “And what did he say to that?” he asked.

  “He said if he did come it would be to put a bullet through my head.”

  “There!” Gore smiled his satisfaction. “You blew it, and now you’ll be lucky if you find another buyer who’ll pay you half of what you’re asking.”

  “You think so?” Jordon put down his soup spoon and reaching back, took out his wallet from his back pocket. From it he drew a dollar bill and laid it on the table beside his plate. “You want to bet Maltzman won’t show at half past eight?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then let’s see your money.”

  “You mean you want me too—” Gore drew a dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on the table.

  “That’s fine. Now we’ll let Billy hold the stakes. It will give him a sense of responsibility.”

  Martha came in to clear away the soup plates. She waited while the old man hastily tilted his plate, the better to take the last few spoonfuls. “You kind of hurrying us, Martha?” he asked.

  “I saw you weren’t eating.”

  “Well, I just stopped to make a financial transaction. All right, I’m done now. Heavy date tonight?”

  “Just a date,” she said and went out to bring in the main course.

  Later, when she came back to clear the table, Jordon asked teasingly, “Who is he, Martha? Who’s your date tonight?”

  “None of your business,” she answered tartly.

  The old man roared with laughter. “Now that’s a girl with spirit,” he exclaimed approvingly. “Cummon, let’s go into the living room. We’ll have our coffee there, and it will give her a chance to clean up in here.”

  When Martha served the coffee a few minutes later, she had already changed to her street clothes.

  “You going now?” Jordon asked.

  “Pretty soon,” she replied. “I’m waiting for my date.”

  “You mean he’s going to call you?”

  “He’s picking me up here. My car is in the garage.”

  “So he’s coming here, is he? What did you say his name was?”

  “I didn’t say.”

  “Well now, Martha, let’s understand each other,” he said pleasantly. “Whom you go out with is your business, but who comes to my house is my business.”

  His voice had taken on an edge, and because she didn’t think it worth fighting about, she shrugged, “It’s Stanley Doble. I guess you know him.”

  “Yes, I know him,” he said grimly. “And I won’t have it.”

  “What do you mean you won’t have it?”

  “I mean, I won’t have him in my house.”

  She smiled thinly. “I guess he don’t care any more for you than you do for him. So when he rings the bell—”

  “He’ll still be trespassing on my land. You want to meet him, you can go down and meet him at the gate, Missy.”

  “Why, you …” She stared at him in disbelief. Then she turned and strode swiftly out of the room. She was back a moment later, in her coat and clutching her handbag. She held a key which she shook under his nose. “Here’s your key.” She opened her hand and let the key drop in his lap. “I won’t need it anymore. I’m not coming back. You can get yourself another girl.” She walked to the front door, jerked it open and then slammed it to behind her.

  Billy looked from Jordon to Gore as if seeking an attitude to emulate. Ellsworth Jordon, while obviously taken aback, did not seem too upset. Gore had an enigmatic smile on his lips.

  “Now you’ve done it, Ellsworth,” he said with quiet satisfaction. “There’s a limit to how much you can push people around. Now you’re going to have to find yourself another housekeeper.”

  “That shows how little you know about people, Larry,” said Jordon contemptuously. “She’ll be back.”

  Gore was puzzled—and interested. “How do you figure?”

  The older man smiled. “Today is the thirty-first, isn’t it? Well, I haven’t given her her monthly check yet. So maybe she’ll wait until Monday or Tuesday to see if she gets it in the mail. Or she may come for it, probably tomorrow. Maybe even tonight after you folks have gone. And there’ll be remarks made that will lead to a rip-roaring argument. And after the air has cleared, we’ll both admit to having acted a bit hastily.”

  “You really are a nasty old curmudgeon,” said Gore, not without a touch of admiration.

  The older man preened himself, and Billy thought it tactful to remark, “Martha blows up quick, but she gets over it quick, too.”

  “Well, there you are, Larry,” said Jordon. “Now, let’s get to important matters. Let’s take a look at the quarterly report—”

  “Oh, I didn’t bring it with me,” said Gore easily. “It wasn’t finished when I left.”

  “That report is due today,” said Jordon in a dry, flat voice.

  “No, Ellsworth. We’re supposed to send it out today. That means any time before midnight—”

  The old man pounded the arm of his chair. His face grew red. “Goddammit, I talked to you about it on the phone, and then I suggested you come here for dinner. You knew I meant for you to bring it with you.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Instantly Jordon’s mood changed. He rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “That will be Martha come back. Go to the door, Billy. But if she has that scallywag Doble with her, tell her I won’t see her and I won’t talk to her.”

  Billy opened the door and saw Stanley alone framed in the doorway. He was obviously embarrassed and uneasy. “Martha Peterson?” he asked.

  “Gee, she’s not here—”

  “Is that you, Doble?” Jordon rose from his chair and walked toward the entrance hall. In a loud hectoring voice, he said, “I told you I didn’t want you setting foot in this house again. Now get out or I’ll call the police.”

  “I come for Martha Peterson,” Stanley said doggedly.

  “Well, she’s not here. She doesn’t work here anymore.”

  “That’s right,” said Billy. “She quit when he told her he wouldn’t allow you to come here.”

  “Why …” Stanley pushed past Billy, his arms raised, his hands outstretched as though he were going to grab the old man by the neck. Gore, who had followed Jordon into the hall, came between them. He put his hands against Doble’s chest. In a low voice, he said, “Don’t be a damn fool, Doble. You can get yourself in a mess of trouble. Martha is waiting for you down by the gate.”

  “I didn’t see her.”

  “You probably didn’t notice her as you swung into the drive,” Gore said soothingly. “But she’s down there waiting. You better go. She might not wait too long.”

  Stanley permitted hi
mself to be eased toward the door. On the threshold, he stopped and shook his fist. “You’re a miserable old sonofabitch, Jordon, and if you’re lying, don’t think I won’t come back.”

  When he had finally closed the door on Stanley Doble, Gore asked, “What did he ever do to you, Ellsworth, that you’re so down on him?”

  The old man waved a hand negligently. “Oh, it was over a job of work I hired him for some months back. That front door was sticking, and I engaged him to fix it. He took it off its hinges and planed it down. He rehung it, and it still wasn’t right. And he wouldn’t fix it without I paid him extra.”

  “It seems to work all right.”

  “No, the lock doesn’t catch right. She won’t close unless you pull her to real hard.”

  “And for that, you told him—”

  “For that and on account of the words we had about it. When I strike a bargain with someone, I expect to keep my part of it, and I expect him to keep his. He said I engaged him just to plane down the door, and my point was that I hired him to fix the door. Now that means it’s got to be right.”

  “Well, all I can say is, it’s a lucky thing for you that I was here. He was in an ugly mood, and you could have got yourself a punch in the nose.”

  “Oh, I could have handled him,” Billy said airily.

  Both men laughed and Jordon said, “You, Billy? What could you have done? Doble is as strong as an ox. He could toss you over his shoulder with one hand.”

  “Yeah, but I got me an equalizer.” Billy tugged at his belt and with a flourish brought forth a revolver.

  Gore shouted, “Put that damn thing down.”

  “You crazy?” cried Jordon. “Where’d you get it?”

  “It’s from my cage in the bank,” said Billy sheepishly. “Mr. Gore asked me to ride shotgun taking the silver to the museum.”

  “You young idiot! I don’t need any protection.” Gore turned to Jordon. “I said it jokingly when I invited him to come along with me tonight. Everybody knows it just means sitting beside the driver.”

  “Don’t you know that in this state if you’re caught with a gun you get a year in prison and no one can get you out?” Jordon raged. Contemptuously, he went on, “Every time I think you’re beginning to grow up and be a man, you pull some damn fool stunt like this and I know you’re still nothing but an immature kid. Now you put that gun on the table there and march straight into your room. And I’m locking you in.”

  “Oh stink!” But nevertheless, the young man deposited the gun on the table, and sheepishly with head lowered and not looking at either of the two men, he went to his room and closed the door behind him.

  Ellsworth Jordon calmly turned the key that protruded from the lock and then returned to the recliner. Gore looked at him uncertainly, went to the door of Billy’s room and listened for a moment. Then he rejoined the older man.

  “That was pretty harsh on Billy,” said Gore.

  “Harsh? I should have taken a stick to him.”

  “Maybe that would have been better, instead of sending him to his room like a child, especially in front of me. After all, you’re not his father.”

  The old man remained silent. The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. Gore noticed it and a wild idea came to him. “Or are you?” he asked. “Is Billy your son?”

  Jordon leaned his head back against the cushion of the recliner and closed his eyes.

  “Is that it? And you wanted him to work in a bank to get training in handling money.”

  “You’re beginning to annoy me, Larry,” the older man murmured without opening his eyes. “Beat it. The bowl is in the carton near the door. Take it and be off. This is my regular time for Transcendental Meditation.”

  “And Billy? You going to leave him there?”

  With his eyes still closed, Jordon smiled and said nothing.

  Gore rose and stood looking down uncertainly at the now placid face of his host. Jordon was breathing slowly and regularly, his lips moving barely perceptibly in the recital of his mantra. Finally, Gore picked up the parcel.

  18

  Lawrence Gore eased his car slowly down the driveway, looking carefully from side to side. Gaining the street, he drove to his own house on the outskirts of town to pick up the cartons of the Peter Archer silver.

  By eight o’clock he was on the highway heading for Boston. As he drove, he thought of the events of the evening. He was quite certain now that Billy was Jordon’s son. He wondered if Billy knew, if that was the reason for his docility. He tried to think of himself at Billy’s age. Would he have tolerated such discipline if he had been visiting with a friend of his parents? Or would he have packed up and gone home? But suppose he didn’t have a home? That his parents were dead? Or suppose his parents had explained to him that they were indebted to his host and that he must on no account offend him? He smiled wryly as it occurred to him that he himself tolerated a lot from Ellsworth Jordon. But, of course, that was business.

  In the distance he saw the lights of a gas station, and he decided to stop there rather than take a chance that there would be another open at this hour. He pulled in and circled well beyond the pumps. Leaving his car, he walked over to the office, and extending a dollar bill, he asked, “Can I have some change so I can use the pay station?”

  “It’s out of order. The phone company fixes them, and the next day they’re on the blink again. Kids come along at night after we close and plug them up so they can get whatever coins have dropped in the meantime. Or sometimes out of pure cussedness.”

  “Is there another pay station this side of the road before the tunnel?”

  “There’s one in the office. You can use that.” He led the way into the office, and ringing up No Sale on the register, handed Gore change for his bill.

  Gore dialed and whistled tonelessly as he waited. When the answer came, he said, “Molly? This is Lawrence Gore. How are you coming along with the report?”

  “Well, I’ve gone over it again and again, but I couldn’t make the two columns balance. So I typed it up anyway.”

  “You sure you put all the items I marked A in one column and the L’s in the other?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve checked it and checked it.”

  “Then I must have marked one of them wrong.”

  “Maybe I could ask Herb to look it over and—”

  “Oh no, you mustn’t do that, Molly,” he said quickly. “It’s bank business and strictly confidential.”

  “Oh, I just thought—well, of course I won’t. Was Mr. Jordon angry about your not bringing it with you?”

  “You better believe it. I thought he was going to have a fit. All that got me off the hook was that I pointed out that the day exended to midnight. I thought I could get back early enough to pick it up and drop it off to him, but looking over the instructions from the museum, I see they expect to inventory the stuff in my presence, item by item. That can take some time, and I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.”

  She could tell that he was concerned. “I could run it up to him right now,” she offered. “Except it doesn’t balance.”

  “Oh, well, he’ll spot the mistake in a minute. He’ll rib me about it when he sees me, but—No, I can’t have you do it. Not where he’s—No, you’d be going there alone and—”

  “You think I’m afraid of him?”

  He smiled at her typical Women’s Lib reaction. He glanced at the large wall clock. “Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble and you don’t mind—”

  “Not at all. Glad to help out.”

  “You’re a sweetheart.”

  “I’m doing it for the bank,” she said severely.

  “Of course.”

  19

  The ringing of the telephone awakened old Mrs. Mandell. Not that she had been asleep, for she insisted that she never really slept, just kind of dozed. It had interrupted a dream—well, not really a dream, since dreams were a function of sleep. Rather a kind of fantasy that would come to her whenever she dozed off. Although
there were variations in detail, the general theme was the same; how things would be if She (which was the way she referred to her daughter-in-law) were gone. Occasionally, the dream was about the nature of her leaving—a fatal accident, a drowning, perhaps, in which Herbert had displayed tremendous courage in his effort to rescue her. He would be grief-stricken, of course, but it would have the effect of drawing him closer to his mother; after a while, he would get over the sense of loss, but still the memory of the tragedy would deter him from marrying again.

  Then there followed a series of vignettes of their blissful life together when there were only the two of them. At breakfast—she was sure she’d be able to manage—and he would exclaim over its excellence. “Gee, Ma, this coffee, it’s out of this world. And this oatmeal! How do you get it so smooth and creamy?” And when he left for work, he would buss her boyishly and say, “Now you take it easy, sweetheart. Leave the dishes, and I’ll do them when I get home.” For dinner she would prepare his favorite foods, the rich and spicy dishes he enjoyed so much, and afterward they would spend the evening watching TV or playing endless games of Scrabble, which she adored.

  She did not want him to feel that he was obligated to her and would suggest, “Why don’t you go out and visit your friends, Herbert? Take out a girl. I don’t really mind an evening alone.” And he would answer, “Why, Ma, you’re my best girl.”

  Or it might be that She was no longer there because he had divorced her. He had finally realized that She was unworthy of him and that he could not continue to live with her.

  Then she might picture him as remarried. His new wife was a shadowy figure, vaguely resembling a buxom Polish maid she had once had, who would give birth almost every year, all boys, and all looking like Herbert. They would crowd around their grandmother, each like one of the pictures of Herbert, at different ages, as he was growing up, pushing and jostling each other to claim her attention. “Grandma, look at me.” Herbert would be beside her and would good-naturedly push them away with, “Go on and play. You’re tiring Grandma.” Their mother never appeared in any of these scenes. With so large a brood, she was naturally busy, cleaning, cooking, washing dishes …